


Strengths

by JulyStorms



Series: Before Colors Broke into Shades [35]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 15:33:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4143102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulyStorms/pseuds/JulyStorms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her voice is a whisper against his lips: “Don’t hurt me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strengths

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vashiane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vashiane/gifts).



> This takes place post-chapter 70 and assumes some things, namely that Hitch and Marlowe have reconciled and that she would be able to take leave from the MP to see him off before he had to go to Shiganshina with the Survey Corps. This hasn't been proofread so if you notice anything please throw it at my face.
> 
> Prompt: "Hips" & Hilow (and somehow it spawned this). Requested by [vashiane](http://vashiane.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.

The sound Marlowe makes against her lips when she pulls him closer is pleasant: warm and low and inviting. Hitch smiles into the kiss and drops back onto her heels, pulling him with her into the shadow of the roof that hangs too far over the side of the building.

She expected this to accelerate into something fast and furious and white-hot. She assumed, wrongly, it seems, that Marlowe’s excitement and eagerness would be the same here as it was everywhere else. But it’s not. This is different. She could not have predicted it.

This is slow and heavy and careful, full of purpose, his fingers tangled in her hair, their bodies touching just enough to make her wish for more, the sound of their breathing in the cool night air the extent of the boundaries of her suddenly small and comfortable world.

His hands move, fingers brushing over her cheeks, her jaw, settling against her neck until he’s cradling her face. His kissing is a little sloppy; he doesn’t really know what he’s doing, but she can’t bring herself to mind. She just wants him closer, until there’s no space left, until they’re so close that nothing in the world can separate them.

His body belongs to a man. Marlowe is in possession of shoulders that have already filled out and a thick neck, strong chest, narrow hips. Physically he’s not at all weak. Physically she knows what he’s capable of. She pulls him closer without breaking the kiss, beckoning with a flutter of her fingertips against his the sharp jut of his hipbones.

She can feel more like this, pressed up against the side of the building. Even when she brings her hands up to his shoulders, up to the back of his neck where his hair is cut short, she can still feel every little press of his body against hers as he kisses her. His belt digs into her stomach and his fingers curl around her head as if to protect her from the wall.

As if the wall is capable of causing her pain!

As stupid as it is, as _small_ as it is, the consideration makes her ache.  She wants to believe in him, in the strengths he possesses, but the strength of his body may not be enough; the strength of his dreams can only take him so far; the strength of his heart is only capable of so much.

She feels safe like this, his body eclipsing hers. She can almost pretend he’s putting himself between her and the rest of the world. When they’re like this, he’s the only one that could ever hurt her. She wonders if he knows. She wonders if he cares.

She speaks on accident when the thought doesn’t leave and he pauses to smooth down her hair. Her voice is a whisper against his lips: “Don’t hurt me.”

He stops, startled, hands stilling. “What?”

“Just don’t—“ the words stick in her throat, “don’t do it, okay?”

He doesn’t understand. She can see it written on his face in the shadows. He hesitates as he thinks, considers, flips this situation over in his head to make sense of it. He’s wondering if he’s already hurt her somehow; he’s wondering what she means by ‘hurt.’

She doesn’t mean sex. She would trust him with that, with her; it would probably be just like this the first time: a little clumsy but heavy and warm and slow. She runs her fingers over the back of his neck, watches him shiver, notices that he doesn’t take his eyes off of her while he waits for her to explain.

It’s hard, pulling those words out of her chest, out of the place where it aches the most, where she keeps all of the things she’s afraid to say, but she knows she needs to be honest with him this time. It may be the last time she has the chance.

“Tomorrow,” she manages, voice trembling for too many reasons. “Don’t—“

She can’t ask him not to die. She can’t ask because he can’t make a promise like that. He’s not strong enough to make a promise like that; no one is.

His fingers flex slightly, his thumb brushing against her jaw.

“Don’t leave me behind,” she says, her shoulders slumping, hands sliding down his back until her arms are loose around his waist. “Not again.”

He doesn’t say anything for a long time. Maybe he can’t. Maybe he’s thinking about her not-friend Annie, who didn’t come back. Maybe he knows he means too much to her now for her to cope with nothing for the rest of her life. He just holds her, one hand on the back of her head as he pulls her against him, the other wrapped around her back.

He swallows hard.

“I’ll come back.” He shifts, pulls away, digs in his pocket looking for something. Then he takes her hand, presses warm metal into it. The chain slides across her skin as it settles against her palm: his grandfather’s pocketwatch.

“Marlowe—“

“You have to take care of it,” he interrupts. “This is—it’s my most prized possession, remember? I can’t take it with me out there or it might get ruined. I’m entrusting it to you until I return.”

Her fingers curl around it. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

“No.” His voice is flat, but she can see by his expression that he’s teasing her. His fingers skim against the underside of her chin. “But you’ll take _good_ care of it, right?”

She slides it into her own pocket. “I might not want to give it back.”

“I’ll get it back.”

 “I can’t believe you’re stooping low enough to actually try to give yourself a reason to come back,” she tells him; she wants to laugh, but she can’t. It’s not funny.

He sighs. “Hitch—“ he starts, and then stops, shaking his head as if he can’t believe what she’s just said. “It’s not—I already have a reason. It’s just… The watch is an extra precaution. Okay?”

Something about the way he says it causes her chest to tighten, but she doesn’t cry. She can’t ruin things now, not before he leaves for Shiganshina. She can’t send him off like that, with her crying like she’s lost him before she’s lost anything.

“Sheesh, Marlowe,” she tries to tease, “if you liked me so much, why don’t you just say so?”

The exasperated sound that leaves his mouth this time makes her grin.

“The fact that we’re out here doing this doesn’t make it clear enough?” he asks, deadpan, though the corner of his mouth looks tilted slightly in the shifting shadows.

She pulls him down by the collar of his jacket until his nose bumps against hers. “Let’s try it again,” she suggests, “and then I’ll let you know for sure.”


End file.
